


Storytellers Inn

by Darksaphira



Series: Darksaphira's Story Chest [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Creatures, Demons, Fantasy, Jester - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Poison, Poisoning, Taverns, Thief, characters, falcon - Freeform, fey, idea collection, inn, places, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksaphira/pseuds/Darksaphira
Summary: This is a place, where I collect ideas I have for creatures, places, or characters I have envisioned at some point and have no real use for. If they intrigued me enough to warrant writing down they might land here.All of these things can be used by others as inspiration if you want to. I'd like to hear about it if one of my creations found a way into your work, but I don't necessarily need credit (unless you take what I have written 1:1, then maybe do credit me for my writing).The Inn I am writing about here is mostly a fun little idea of a framing narrative to hold these things together. The chapters as they appear don't usually have any sort of connection between them. If they do I will explicitly state that.In fact chapters might not even fit into the same world. Some might even be better suited in entirely different genres. Most of these will probably be at home in fantasy, but some might not be.
Series: Darksaphira's Story Chest [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256342





	1. The Storytellers Inn

Somewhere on a roadside is an unassuming Tavern. It is a small building, one story in height. The whole building seems weathered, the stone is dark and smoothened by the elements, but it does not appear shabby because of that. The thick glass windows are smudged, but maybe these kinds of windows simply need to look like that, but they do spill a warm light out onto the lonely road. The old sign above the door is so worn that it is hard to make out the words on them, but once upon a time it read ‘Storytellers Inn’. 

The inside is a big slightly cluttered barroom. A fire crackles in the fireplace, creating a cozy atmosphere. Tables and chairs are strewn about the room in small groups, some of them usually occupied with patrons drinking, eating, and talking. 

The burly barman behind the bar offers a welcoming nod to everyone coming in. If someone who is new to the place comes to the bar he will offer them a second mug of his foaming dark ale and nod towards the far corner of the taproom. “If you are new here, go and bring a mug of ale there, yes?” He’ll say. 

Usually, they do, taking the mug towards a lonely table in a gloomy corner. An old man sits there, half-hidden in shadow. He’ll accept the mug with a nod and then ask the newcomer to take a seat by him. 

Once they do, he’ll smile. “Say, care for a little story?” He’ll ask. “I can tell you about creatures you have never encountered before, places you have not been, and people you have not met.” 

Then he’ll start to talk about something. Something wondrous, something foreign, maybe even something so outlandish that it is hard to believe it true. Conversation in the room will hush, and people will start to listen, for the old man’s words are riveting, captivating. No one dares to interrupt, to leave as the old man paints pictures in his words, whisking everyone who listens away from reality for a bit. 

Once he is done he will lean back, taking a big draft from his mug and smile again. “If you care for another story, I’ll always be happy to trade you one for a drink.” He’ll declare. 

Talking to the other patrons will lead to different opinions. Some will tell you that the old man is just a talented bard, making up stories in exchange for his drinks. But others swear on the things he is saying as true. The barkeeper will rumble a laugh if asked. “I’d not be too sure that it’s all just stories, no matter what someone else might say.” 

The old man himself will refuse to answer any questions, just give anyone asking them a knowing smile. 

Some people will then leave the tavern behind and never think back to it. Some might happen upon it again after a while, turning back in when they get the chance. And still, some others might start to turn in regularly, find a seat in the barroom and buy that old storyteller a mug once in a while to hear another story. 

Two things are for sure, though: First, the barkeeper will know your face if you’ve been here before. Second, that old man will sit at his table at the back corner of the room no matter when you come in. He’ll be there, waiting and always happy to tell you a bit about a world you hadn’t ever dared to imagine. 

So, welcome to the Storytellers Inn. Do you care for a mug of our ale? 

Bring one over there too, will ya?


	2. The Jester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a creature idea I had while I was just looking at some pictures. It was just a normal jester I saw, but for some reason, it sparked the idea of something more sinister. I'd link the original picture, but for one I don't quite know where I saw it and for another, it's neither special nor really connected to this, so I won't bother.   
> Take a look at my creation and enjoy, instead.

Oh, this one is a terrible thing. It is as high as your average man at least, some said it is a good bit bigger than that. Maybe it can change its height, or more terrible, maybe there is more than one like it out there. In shape it is roughly the same as a man, but also not. In this eery way, it is so totally different from any human. 

Its skin is a sickly pale shade all over, reminding many of the ways some jesters and acrobats like to paint their own skins. All of its limbs are too thin and too long for anything close to a human though. Even the elves don’t manage this kind of look. Its hands end in long sharp claws in deep ruby color, perfect for ripping open its poor victims. Trust me, friend, you don’t want to be on the wrong end of these. 

The few who have seen its feet are more akin to some beasts paws with shorter claws too. But most never see those feet, because the creature usually seems to wear shoes. They’re big, in a dirty brown and curl upwards at the top. 

Oh yes, it wears clothes in general. It has skin-tight pants, one leg in red and yellow stripes, and one in red and white checkers. As all colors it wears they seem muddy, muted in quality. It also wears a long shirt, like you could see any jester wear really. It is checkered in red, yellow, and white in an irregular pattern, with golden threads ornamenting the piece. A long tail-like flap hangs down its back, tattered and torn all the way down to its feet. The sleeves are torn off halfway down the things arms and are puffed up at the shoulders. 

But its head. Its head is where it gets truly terrible. The lips are thin, nearly colorless against its pale skin. When they stretch into a smile that nearly seems to splits its face in two it reveals a mouth full of thin and razor-sharp teeth. It has many more teeth than any being should have, the whole thing is just full of them it seems. 

It has a nose too, long and bend, a bit like a beak. Then there are its eyes. Big and black, they shine when it looks down on you. The worst about them though, is that they are faceted like an insect’s eyes would be. You can never quite tell where it is looking at. Maybe it does look everywhere at once. 

On top of its head, this beast has two sets of horns. One big, bending away from its head in a wide arch. One is red and the other is golden. The second one is smaller, located below the first. These wave backward, thinner, and shorter than the first set. They too are one golden and one red, but the colors are opposite of the other pair. If you look at these horns they remind one of a jesters cap. That is where this thing might have gotten its name. 

The Jester, they call it. Some say it is male, but I don’t think it has a gender by nature. I do agree with most though, that it is either some kind of demon or another otherworldly creature. Maybe even a particularly nasty kind of fey.  
I am sure, or maybe I simply hope, that it is not from our world. 

It stalks dark places at night, creeps around them in search of some unguarded victim. It has been encountered in dark forests, abandoned ruins, lightless caves, and some say even in the nightly streets of our very own cities. I’d love to say that it soundlessly creeps up to its victims, but it does not. Indeed it can usually be heard well before it is seen, for each of its movements is accompanied by the sound of bells, even if it never seems to wear any. Soft chimes if it moves slowly, angry loud jingles if it makes sudden, fast movements.   
The problem is, if you can hear the Jester, it most certainly knows where you are too. If you hear it, you might as well not run.   
Of course, most people do run, but the Jester always catches them if it intended to. 

Oh, but if it catches you, it is not necessarily over. Enough people survived their encounters, for the Jester is not just a mindless beast. It is intelligent for sure. It even speaks, and it seems capable of speaking every language known to men. Or, maybe it does not even speak in a traditional way. But, when it talks, its words are accompanied by the soft sounds of a lute. It is probably all magic, but no one quite knows how it does it. 

Anyway, if it catches you, it is usually willing to talk. It will smile its terrible smile and share its jokes and jabs. It always seems to know what insecurities its victim has, what to poke fun at to get under your skin. The jokes it tells are cruel, they always seem to hold a personal note to them. 

When it loses interest in tormenting its victim this way, it will prompt them to tell it a story, or maybe a joke, or a song. This is important, so think carefully before you go on. Because your fate will depend on how the thing reacts to what you say next. 

If you manage to interest it, it will allow you to ask a question. It will not lie if it answers that question, but it might refuse the answer or not know it at all. If asked what it is, or what it is called, it will simply answer ‘I am the Jester.’ and if you ask whether it is a demon or a fey or whatever else you can think of it will laugh a haunting laugh and simply leave. Whatever your answer may be, you have survived and that should be win enough.   
If your story manages to make it laugh, a feat that is not easy to accomplish from what I know, the thing will grant you a wish. It might refuse some and tell you to try again but in the end, it will gift you with something. That something might be a thing or skill, or maybe simply some boon it is able to grant you. But remember that the Jester is a twisted thing. It will take you as literally as it can, and usually there is a catch to these things. And believe me, it has a creative mind, so don’t try to trick it. Take something small, thank it and leave, if you want my advice.   
If you bore it though, or make it angry, it will lunge at you, sink its claws into your flesh and tear you apart to devour. Then you are truly lost, and only naked bones will be left. 

Once it caught you, there is nowhere left to go, no way out of this situation without trying to tell it something. If you refuse it will devour you all the same, and if you run it will hunt you to tear you apart. Believe me, you won’t get far. 

In both cases that allow you to survive the encounter, there is one thing you need to know. Whatever you tell the thing, you surrender wholly to it. Whatever story you tell it, or whatever song you sing or joke you try, you will forget it and never be able to tell it again. Even if you learn about it again, it will flee your mind the moment after. 

Some people say it might live off these pieces of your mind as much as it lives off the flesh of those it destroys. I can’t tell you that for sure, but I am sure that I know of no mage who can lift whatever curse or infliction causes this to happen. No sage you go to will find a way to help you. 

If you survive and it leaves you alone it will bow to you, as a real jester or bard might do, and then retreat into the darkness it came from. 

Pray you never meet it again.


	3. The Nighthawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit different from the one before, mostly because I wasn't sure how to communicate a character concept like this one and still fit it into my narrative framework even a bit.  
> Now as it is, it only gives you a glimpse at a character I really really like. He's had several different iterations so far, different powers, and slightly varying stories. Some things remained constants though, and the general idea was always the same. 
> 
> Sooo, take a look. If you want to know more do let me know maybe. His name is a about direct translation from the original - german - name I gave him when I was much younger. Doesn't sound quite as good, but I can't make myself change it. He also has a real name (Zaru, he's appeared in a different story-fragment I posted already) but that had no place here.

Oh, everyone has heard about this one I think. At least most people know his name. I’m talking about the Nighthawk.  
He’s probably one of the more famous thieves around the realms, at least I’d say so. There’s a prize on his head in most kingdoms I think. 

There is not a lot known about this man. He’s known by his piercing yellow eyes - the eyes of a falcon. That’s what got him his name. No one seems to know his real name either. Some aren’t even certain what species he’s part of. Generally speaking, there is a lot of rumors about him. He’s dangerous for sure. There’s a lot of stories I could tell you about him, but most of those are probably lies. So I’ll go with only one, but one I am sure is real. 

It’s an account by another traveler, a diary he wrote that I got my hands on. And it tells you about the Nighthawk. Here’s what he wrote: 

It was a cold, dark evening in the early spring. I will probably always remember. It happened high up north, in a deep forest, so black that it is always gloomy at best.  
I was on my way up to a settlement out there. I don’t know the reason anymore, I guess it doesn’t really matter. 

The evening was already growing quite dark, I was freezing, woefully unprepared for how cold it still was up here at this time and about ready to make camp when I saw a fire shine through the trees. I hadn’t seen or heard anything before, but there it was. 

I approached - I had been on my own in a cold forest for days after all - and found a lone figure sitting on a blazing fire. He was about average height, probably a bit on the lanky side as far as I could tell with him sitting down. He was also completely covered in black clothes, including a black cloak with a hood that was pulled deep into his face. 

I hadn’t fully approached the fire yet, I was sure I had been silent too, but he was already looking at me then. Didn’t say anything, just looked. I could practically feel his eyes on me, even when the hood did keep his face covered in shadows. 

For a moment I considered just leaving, but I felt foolish. And, to be honest I was a bit lonely too. Cold as well, it really was freezing. 

So, no matter what had driven me, I ended up approaching the fire. Asked him if he happened to have space for another weary traveler in his camp. 

He seemed to consider me for a moment before he nodded. “Sure. Take a seat by my fire, if you want.” His voice was silent and smooth as he spoke. 

I sat down across from him, didn't think much of it. "Thank you." I told him as the fire warmed me. 

"Mmhm." He hummed in agreement. 

Then, and to this day I am not sure why he did that then, he pulled his hood down. I guess he knew I'd see his face at some point. He shook his head, ruffling his rust-colored hair in the process. It covered his face for a moment before he pushed it away again and looked at me over that fire. 

His eyes, these yellow falcon-like eyes, seemed to look straight through me. I can tell you, that part of him is exactly like they say in the stories. 

My heart stopped for a few moments, as the realization hit me just who I had encountered out here. 

The silence stretched like something touchable for a few moments. It took me a few moments after my initial surprise to understand that the man was waiting for a reaction by me. Still, I needed a few more moments to find my voice again. 

"It's dreadfully cold out here, huh? I don't think I'll ever get warm again." Was what I settled for. My voice shook a bit, and I probably sounded nervous. Then again, who wouldn’t be nervous, suddenly finding themselves across from one of the allegedly most dangerous men who walk this world? 

You could clearly see some tension I hadn't realized he'd held leaving him at that. He laughed, subtly changed the way he held his hands while he did. "Try being out there during the height of winter, when the snow comes. Then it's really cold." 

It took me a few days after this encounter to realize just how dangerous that situation had probably been. Looking back at it now I am sure that he would have attacked me if I'd reacted the wrong way. Though the only weapon I saw with him was a short bow leaning on a tree nearby I'm certain he had more than one dagger on him. 

And honestly, that was most of that. We exchanged a few more sentences, but none held any real meaning. Just idle chatter, nothing deep. While I lost some of my nervousness after a while, I made sure never to ask anything that came even close to anything personal. Not where he came from, where he was going, what he was doing out there, or even a name. I’m not sure if he would have answered any of these questions. If so, I’m sure I would have gained only lies. So I decided against it, and he seemed to agree with that. 

Later that evening he even offered me one of the rabbits he’d been cooking over that fire of his. He had plucked one of them out of the fire and then looked at me. “You hungry?” He asked and nodded towards the other rabbit still roasting over the fire. “Help yourself.” 

I was quite startled, let me tell you. “I couldn’t.” I tried to reject him, couldn’t quite picture myself taking this man’s food. It was insane enough to think that I was sitting at his fire right now. 

He laughed again at that, his eyes flashing amusement. Or maybe I hoped that’s what it was. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He declared. “I’ll be fine, can always hunt some more.” He nodded slightly towards the bow that leaned off to the side at that. 

I hesitated for a few more heartbeats before I, reluctantly, did take the second rabbit he had prepared. Eating something warm instead of the cold rations I had on myself sounded great, truly.

The thief smiled slightly at me but otherwise didn’t comment or react further. 

Otherwise, there really wasn’t much to tell about that evening. I eventually settled down to sleep, before him mind you. I can’t say sleep came easy that night, but on the other hand I’m sure someone like him wouldn’t have needed to wait for me to sleep if he had meant me harm. Not if even a few of the stories told about him are true. 

Of course, nothing happened that night. I woke up the next morning quite the same I had fallen asleep. He was awake already, and active. I probably should have expected that. Then again, I had half expected him to be gone by the time I awoke. 

Instead, he gave me a cup of hot tea while I was still sitting up. I took it, not quite awake yet. Only when I smelled it, did I become alert. It seemed… off. I frowned slightly. 

“You could put that away now…” The thief spoke up, capturing my attention. “...but that would force me to take some more… drastic measures.” Now his voice held an edge, and his eyes were cold and intense. 

I swallowed a lump that had suddenly lodged itself in my throat and nodded. Looking back down I eyed the cup again as it cooled in the crisp morning air. “If you don’t mind the question, what’s in there?” I asked after a few moments. I instantly wondered if I would regret the question. 

For a moment it looked like he would not answer me. “A mixture of Arrowhead and Shaderoot.” He finally informed me. “It causes paralyzation, but it’s not dangerous or leaves any damages or aftereffects. I’m not trying to really poison you, if that worries you.” He took a sip of his own tea, no doubt one that wasn’t spiked with anything. “If I had wanted you dead you wouldn’t have woken up. I also could have robbed you blind and been gone before you woke up, so that’s not my intention either.” 

I hesitated for one more moment, but couldn’t see a way around this. I wasn’t about to have a discussion with this man about his intentions. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to fight him, and I knew that was the other option. So I carefully took a sip, my eyes not leaving him. I was surprised to find that it simply tasted like sweet fruity tea. Had I not been well-versed with herbs I probably would not have noticed anything out of place in it. 

I took another, deeper draft from the cup. “Why are you doing this?” I dared to ask. 

He simply stared at me, that same unyielding look he’d had before. “Drink.” He finally ordered, nodding towards the cup in my hands. 

Suddenly I felt rather foolish questioning him like that. I looked down at the cup and then took a last deep drink, emptying the cup. I tipped the empty cup over for him to see before I looked back at him. 

He nodded at that, his face softening a little bit. “This will start working in a few moments and keep you immobilized for an hour, maybe one and a half hours. Fire will burn longer than that, and there really shouldn’t be anyone around here to encounter in that time. The animals will keep away from the fire and any people should also keep away seeing you like this. I’ll check the surrounding area to be sure though.” He had emptied his own cup by now and put that in a small bag by his side.  
“And, as for why…” He laughed again. “You know who I am. I know you know. You can’t quite blame me for being a bit paranoid. I need to know for sure that I’ll be far enough away by the time you’ll get any chance to tell anyone just who you met out here. And that you won’t be able to follow me. The other option would be tying you up and leaving you behind, but doing that out here in the wilderness is way too dangerous for my taste. I think this is the better way of doing this.” 

My eyes followed him as he stood up. “As to why I haven’t simply sent you away yesterday… Well, you seemed rather unprepared for the area and in need of a warm fire. People should help each other up here, I think. And, after all, you could have left as well.” 

He moved around the small clearing for a bit, finally collected his bag and drew his hood back into his face. “I don’t care what you tell anyone later, by the way. Tell them that you found me, tell them that you fought me and that I simply slipped away again. Tell them I’ve robbed you blind and left you here to die, with nothing left on you. Or, don’t tell anyone. Whatever makes you feel good, I guess. Goodbye.” With that he simply left, slipping into the trees, disappearing into the gloom within moments. 

I tried moving after he was gone, but true to his word there was nothing I could do. I was fully immobilized, only my eyes free to roam around. 

Truth be told, I could not quite blame the guy for going to these measures. The reward on the Nighthawk is high enough to allow me, my kids, and their kids to live a comfortable life probably. Someone worth that kind of money needs to watch his steps. 

While I indeed didn’t encounter anyone or anything while I sat there, I did spot something. A Silver Falcon was sitting perched on a tree across from me, watching. Now, I don’t claim to be an expert on these animals, I rarely encountered them but I do know that they don’t live this far north. 

Of course, I couldn’t tell you for sure that it was in any way connected to the Nighthawk, but it seems too fitting not to be true. And I heard that these animals can, rarely, bond with a person. I’ve only heard a few stories about elves doing this, but that doesn’t make it impossible now, does it? 

I’m simply saying that this bird, that usually lives in the elven forests, was watching me with keen intensity for well over an hour, before it cried out once and took flight. It soared over the treetops within moments and was out of my sight after that. 

I felt the paralyzation wear off a while after that. I stood, collected my things, extinguished the fire and left. I kept that cup, by the way. It’s a clay cup, but stamped with a silvery-shining falcon. I washed it thoroughly, several times, and now I do use it to drink my tea at times when I am alone. 

I also always tell the true story, the few times I do end up telling it. I don't mean to imply he's a good man, I'm sure these rewards have their reasons, but I don't think it's fair to spread lies about him. He didn't do me any harm and he shared his food with me, and in my book that's counting for something. 

One last thing: I can't address any of these rumors about the Nighthawk with any certainty. He lacked the horns to mark him as a demon, had no angel wings of any variety - neither white, not black or even the ones of a falcon - and I have not seen him melt into either shadow or fog, nor have I seen him command flames or unveil any other arcane capabilities he might have. He seems to be handy with herbs and poisons, but that’s about it. 

But he seemed at least decent, and not as ruthless as some claim him to be. Because, if he would be, he would have either turned me away that night, or robbed me, outright killed me, or maybe left me behind tied up and struggling in the wilderness. He chose the one way causing the least harm and I have to at least give him some respect for that.

And, because even when writing this down I feel like I need to address this: To all of those who tell me I acted wrong that day, I want to congratulate you because you seem to be braver than I am. It needs a better man, a stronger man than me to dare and try to capture him in this situation.   
But, I need you to remember that many men are heroes in the safety of a tavern while drinking ale and sitting on a table in a warm room.   
You only know how brave you are, when you are alone, cold, in the wilderness. Sitting across from a man who probably could have killed you before you even spoke a word to him and who had every reason to. Sitting across from a man who everyone searches for, who invited you to share his fire and decided to show you just who he is. Three days march from the nearest settlement, in the best case. 

I can’t tell you for sure that he would have been stronger than me. But I can promise you that he would have been more cunning than I could ever dream to be. Probably faster. And I am sure he was always ready to attack me. He was probably even a better ranger than I could dream to be because I never found a trace of his passing before or after our meeting.   
I didn’t want to find out how handy he is with daggers. If he had any daggers or how many. Much less did I want to know what other kinds of weapons he had on him that day. You are a fool if you think he wasn’t prepared. 

And, say I would have managed to overpower him. My options would have been to bind him, without the materials to do that, in a way that secured him until I could reach civilization again, or kill him. I don’t think I can kill a man, and dragging an unwilling, dangerous and probably also desperate captive with me for over three days does not sound like an easy task. 

The wild is a lawless place. He extended me courtesy, and I did not even for a moment think about doing him harm. And, truth be told, I was deathly afraid of him too. Even when he turned out to be a decent fellow, I could never forget just who he was. He always had the upper hand, simply by being who and what he is. And I am sure he knew that.


End file.
